


Parts We Keep

by adarksweetness (chayaasi)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Asexual Tony Stark, Difficult Decisions, Dubious Consent, Dubious Science, Emotional Hurt, Established Relationship, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-09-25 03:39:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9801101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chayaasi/pseuds/adarksweetness
Summary: Tony thinks about how there's a lot of special snowflake stuff that Steve takes in stride. He thinks about how at least his genius, his late nights in the lab, and his publicity stunts do something for the team, whereas his sexuality doesn't. He thinks about how said sexuality is, in fact, hurting the one person Tony should put before himself.Or; Steve is running out of time after being dosed with sex pollen, and asexual Tony is the only one compatible.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Based on an avengerkink prompt that I have since lost (sorry!), this story is largely about an asexual character engaging in sex. Nobody breaks up in the end, but it's not exactly happy either. I tried to focus mostly on the characters' emotional perspectives, which, given who the characters are, are not exactly happy either. 
> 
> If this is not your cup of tea, you may wish to avoid this story.

Tony frowns deeply, and directs his most potent glare at the exam table, but it doesn’t make the SHIELD doctor stitch Steve up faster. It’s a travesty that he even needs them—Tony had designed the uniform to be resistant to titanium bullets and yet it had cracked under a bug bite.

Did vaguely bee-shaped insectoid aliens from another dimension count as bugs? It feels more like a Goosebumps title.

“I don’t understand that reference,” Steve jokes wanly from his perch on the table. Judging by how pale he looks, Tony suspects the topical anesthetic has long since worn off (if it took effect at all) and that Steve was feeling every stitch being added to the side of his neck. Which brings him full circle: glaring at the SHIELD doctor to hurry it up.

“I’ll order you the full series when we get home,” Tony says, stroking Steve’s free side as a distraction. “They take your blood for testing? We don’t know where those alien bees have been."

“They took everything,” Steve says. “I’ll have to stay overnight for observation, though.” He sounds morose, probably at the thought of spending the night in a SHIELD bunk and waiting for whatever bizarre side effects to manifest while everyone else went back to their comfortable beds in wherever they called home. Tony kisses his shoulder in sympathy and doesn’t resist when Steve holds his hand.

“Great, you can keep me company,” he says. “Natasha managed to uh, acquire one of the stingers, but these guys won’t let me take the sample home. I have to stay here if I want to know exactly what cut through your suit."

Relief paints Steve’s grin an adorable shade of dork. “I can be good company.” he says.

“Don’t I know it,” Tony smirks back.

 

-

 

It amazes him sometimes, that he’s in a relationship with Captain America, in love with Steve Rogers. Yet while the reality of that sinks in a little more everyday, the one thing that can still stop him in his tracks is this: there’s no anxiety in being alone with Steve.

It’s really saying something because that anxiety has been part of Tony’s life for as long as he can remember. He’d pretty much resigned himself to situational awareness when he came to terms with his asexuality. He’d read actions; hid his unenthusiasm under the collective enthusiasm of a three-or-moresomes; and at all times, Tony Stark avoided being alone with someone. There was something about solitude that seemed to charge the air with lust, so even his most understanding of partners eventually made advances.   

(“ _Oh come on, no need to be shy--it’s just you and me now.”_ Like that’s how it worked.)

Steve is better than all of them. It's kind of his thing—Steve is kind and honest and brave, and what’s more, he respects these qualities in others. Tony could certainly be honest and confess that he wanted Steve, but didn’t want sex. The bravery part had been a bit harder. He’d felt less brave and more like an idiot asking Steve to love him exclusively, to remain monogamous and celibate, because that’s what everyone wanted when they began a relationship with a billionaire playboy.   

Yet, Steve had barely blinked. He had asked a crazy amount of questions, though, and FRIDAY’s history logs began filling up with some telling research. Eventually, like a true strategist, Steve had found a way for them to have their cake and eat it too. Which is great because Tony loves cake, and as it turns out, through the power of trust and true love, even eating dry coffee cake from SHIELD’s cafeteria under the shitty fluorescent lighting of a bio lab can feel like the most intimate thing in the world.

Tony opens his mouth like a baby bird when Steve waves another piece in his face. “You spoil me, Cap."

Steve just chuckles wordlessly, and Tony is hardly surprised by his calf pressing against his own under the table. He is kind of piqued, however, when Steve reaches over to steal his fries and presses a sloppy kiss to his ear in the process.

“Whoa there, soldier,” he manages, more out of surprise than protest, but Steve does look mightily embarrassed anyway.

“Sorry."

“Don’t be,” Tony winks at Steve before turning back to the microscope because this is how much he trusts his lover: he doesn't flinch when Steve looms up behind him, nor when Steve drapes himself against his back, large and powerful, and practically immovable. There’s a long-missed security there, in the simple fact that even though Steve’s arms snake around his waist and fingertips brush bare skin under the hem of Tony’s shirt, they would go no further.

“You smell good,” Steve mumbles into the thick fabric of Tony’s shirt.

“If you say so,” Tony replies, the bulk of his attention already on examining the alien specimen under the glass. He barely notices when Steve exhales, slow and heavy, and tightens his arms.   

 

-

 

“Well, the kicker is this,” Tony says later, when they’re both in an assigned SHIELD dormitory. It looks a little better than a hospital room, and has the added joy of cameras and mics riddling the walls. Sure, Steve’s under observation, but did it have to be this creepy?

“What?” Steve’s voice comes muffled from the other side of the bathroom door.

Tony can hear him stumble around in the tiny space. It’s barely fit for one normal sized person, much less Steve, who was clearly a whole pantheon of Greek gods carefully duct taped together to make one super soldier.

“Those bugs weren’t evil, they just ended up on our planet by accident and panicked.”  

“Uh-huh.”

“Yeah, so the good news is, they won’t be back again.” Tony sighs. “The bad news is, we don’t have more samples to study.”

“That’s fine, I don’t feel anything.”

Tony throws the bathroom door a mild glare. "Don't make it about you, Rogers. You know how I need to know what cut up your uniform."

There's no discernible response to that except for an occasional drip from the shower. Tony hears a small thud from behind the beige wall separating him and Steve; he's just about to ask if his favorite nonagenarian had fallen and couldn’t get up when he picks up on a familiar moaning breath and the rhythmic noise of flesh on flesh.  

Oh. Tony pulls his hand back from knocking. Leaving Steve to his private time, he goes to raid the snack basket instead.

When Steve comes out a while later, he has an enviably fluffy towel wrapped around his hips and one twisted around his head. It makes no practical sense, especially after he got rid of his floppy 40's bangs, but Tony bites his tongue because the rest of Steve makes up for one harmless quirk.

More than makes up; Tony nibbles on the end of a pocky stick and takes advantage of his spinning chair to follow Steve across the room as the soldier goes to retrieve his clothes.  

The man moves like a marvel; he stalks over to the tiny closet, rifles expertly through the options, and, bless him, pulls out something that looks at least four sizes too small. Then, he bends over and honestly, Tony can’t help but celebrate with an appreciative wolf whistle.  

For a moment, Steve looks bemused, peering at Tony while still bent at the waist. “Was that for me?”

Tony grins, tongue sliding down the pocky stick. “Maybe?” he drawls, just before spinning around on the chair.

As expected, Steve is right there once he revolves back around, and all Tony can see is glorious pecs and abs for miles. Yet, it’s Steve’s smile that makes his heart jump.  

That, and the way he murmurs, “You’re a menace, Mr. Stark,” before leaning down to kiss Tony. Tony kisses back languorously, wrapping both palms around the nape of Steve’s neck to draw him closer. He carefully avoids the fresh dressing at the base of the blond’s throat, and the bruise still purpling the edge of it. God, those were some nasty bugs. He considers the feasibility of equipping Steve’s uniform with a giant zapper, but that brilliant train of thought derails when Steve picks him up like Tony weighs nothing because _oh, that is nice_...   

“You do smell good.” says Steve.   

“You already told me that,” Tony reminds him, snaking his legs around a trim waist. He strokes the backs of his fingers down the clean shaven plane of Steve’s cheek, down to his throat, and— “Are you feverish?” he asks abruptly. The skin under Tony's palms is warmer than he ever remembers, even after accounting for the recent hot shower.  

“I'm fine,” Steve insists. “More than fine,” Tony exhales in surprise when his back hits the decidedly unluxurious bed. Steve looks down at him, lively and flushed. “I feel great, in fact.”  

Tony draws himself up on his elbows and watches his lover suspiciously. “Oh?”  

“Yep,” Steve replies, and climbs into bed himself. Or more accurately, he climbs on to Tony and settles between his thighs.

Tony lands back on his back with a yelp. It’s nothing new, per se; Steve can be overly affectionate when he wants to be, but this feels…off. Tony squirms away from the slight nips being peppered along the sensitive skin of his throat. Even as he pushes at the weight bearing down on him, it occurs to him that Steve’s gotten warmer, but all of that flies right out of his mind when he feels a telltale hardness against his inner thigh.  

This time, Tony plants his palm right across Steve’s face. “Damn it, Cap, get off!” he barks, and to his credit, Steve obeys in a hurry.  

He stumbles off Tony, off the bed like he’s drunk, barely holding on to the towel keeping his modesty in check. Not that an obvious and raging boner has anything to do with modesty, Tony thinks sourly, hoisting his own body up to stand.  

“Shit,” Steve curses. “Tony, I’m so sorry, I—mh.” He cocks his head—no, he spasms, and this time, Tony's the one to swear because there’s a dark web of veins and inflamed capillaries spreading out from under Steve’s wound dressing. The blond doesn’t seem to notice, however. The hand at his groin tightens and he takes a deep, shuddering breath.  

“I have to…” Steve glances helplessly at the bathroom. Like he needs Tony’s permission to masturbate?   

“Oh my god, _go_!” Tony makes urgent shooing motions. Once Steve slams the door behind him, Tony spends approximately ten seconds bullying his mind into something resembling relaxation before calling Bruce.

 

-

 

Hell, Tony’s learned over the years, can break loose in a number of ways. Sometimes, it’s a phone call in the dead of night, saying, ‘Sir, it’s your parents’. Sometimes, it’s as flashy as aliens dropping from the sky. And sometimes, it’s stepping out for a minute to help the resident bioscientist set up shop, then coming back to find out that Steve’s essentially barricaded himself in the dorm.

Tony eyes the gaggle of SHIELD agents, including Maria Hill, gathered by the action. “JARVIS, override loc—.”  

“Wait,” Bruce interjects. “If he feels safe here, let him be. We’ve got visual on Cap; we can intervene if we need to, but until then, there’s something you should see.”  

That’s how Tony learns hell also masquerades as a series of tawdry 'fun facts’. Fun fact: some insect venoms are known to cause sexual arousal. Not-fun fact: six hours ago, Steve got dosed with alien bee poison and can't stop jacking off, despite the obvious pain etched on his face.    

Fun fact: some mammals can die if they don’t have sex. Not-fun fact: the biology is more complicated than that. The gist of it, Bruce explains, involves hormones running wild and overloading the system, eventually causing bone death, organ failure, nervous system shutdown, and other such fun ailments. The horror show would usually take months, but apparently, the serum is playing nice with the venom and Steve is running out of time.  

“Infrared shows Captain Rogers' body temperature approaching 103 degrees,” one of the agents informs them. “That’s beyond normal, even for—“  

“Got it, thank you!” Tony interrupts loudly, then returns to join heads with Bruce. “Ok, it’s a hormone overload. So, what…an injection? We just analyze the chemistry, cook up our own bunch of neutralizers, and shoot him up."  

“You know that’s not how it works, Tony." Bruce shakes his head. "Even if we could hack something together in time, there’s no accounting for side effects."  

"Side effects worse than death by boner?"  

Bruce shoots him a significant look. "Yeah, that's a possibility," he retorts, and Tony doesn't argue the point. “Look,” Bruce continues, "Tony, the fact that this thing is biological may be a saving grace here. Our bodies don't trigger reactions and cycles for fun; they usually want something."  

Something. A glance at the video feed shows Steve curled in bed, naked and writhing like a wounded animal, and there's no question as to what that something is. Tony looks away from his own vague reflection on the screen.

"What are we doing, standing around then?" he asks. "Let's...let's find an outlet."

"You sure?" Bruce asks like he's genuinely surprised.

“He’s dying,” Tony answers. “If this is what'll fix him, I don't care if I have to call every escort in the tri-state.”  

Bruce takes off his glasses to clean them. He doesn’t look uncertain anymore, but he doesn’t look pleased either. “Ok, let’s give it a try."

 

-

 

The first try fails. The subsequent tries after that also fail; not because of any dearth of able and consenting volunteers to sleep with Captain America to save his life, but because for all that he’s burning up and near death, Steve won’t let anyone near him. The last volunteer had actually been bodily deposited outside the room like an empty breakfast tray to be collected by housekeeping.  

Understandably, Tony is at his absolute wit's end by the time he barges into the dorm himself. “Goddamn it, Steve, now is not the time to be you! We’re trying to save your life here!”  

Steve glances up from where he’s hunched over on the edge of the bed, hands wrapped around his elbows. There's strain evident in his clenched fists and rigid jaw, but still he snarls back, “I don’t want them!”   

_That’s not the point,_ Tony wants to say, but another wave of misery bows Steve over and Tony’s resolve crumbles. Next thing he knows, he’s standing in front of his lover, hugging the blond head to his stomach. Tony notes the fever heat of his skin when Steve hugs his waist and feels a surge of protective anger.  

“You’ll die,” he tells Steve flatly, sifting damp gold hair through his fingers. “I know…it sucks. More for you than me, I’ll give you that, but you have to let us help you. As much as it sounds like a bad setup for a porno, sex is our best option.”   

Steve just untucks a fistful of Tony's shirt, noses at his hipbone. “Don’t like them,” he mumbles between firm kisses.  

“Well, maybe we haven’t found your type yet,” Tony replies with an indulgence he doesn’t feel. “Come on, Cap, how do you like ‘em? Tall? Curly-haired? Like Katherine Hepburn?”  

Distracted as he is, Tony doesn’t notice Steve’s thighs snake around his legs until Steve pulls him into the newly wrought tangle of super soldier limbs.  

“Are you listening?” Tony starts, frustrated. “Steve, do you understand you’re— _fuck_!"  

Tony goes shrill when Steve abruptly stands up and pulls their bodies so close that Tony thinks they must feel each other's heartbeat. His hands push against Steve’s biceps on instinct, scrabbling for purchase on smooth, slick skin even as Steve makes a singular effort to press their mouths together. The practical part of his brain already knows he can’t win in a struggle, not with Steve, but Tony is spared from doing something drastic by Maria Hill, who marches in at that moment to drag him out. Steve's eyes flash dangerously when she enters, but Hill comes prepared. By the time the door slams shut again, Tony gets one last glimpse at his lover cringing around a particularly bad taser burn.  

While he catches his breath, Hill watches him appraisingly. "He didn't get hostile with you." she observes.  

"I think you beat him to it," Tony replies dryly.   

"I defended myself," Hill folds her arms. "Like the other agents had to when Rogers couldn't stand to have them around. But you had no problem."  

"You want me to give the next one my clothes? Fool the wolf?"  

"Look, Stark," Hill begins, uncertainly for once, and Tony wonders if he should be afraid. "I'm supposed to inform you that Dr. Banner thinks it's a compatibility issue, that he's creating a matrix right now so we're not just throwing spaghetti at the wall."  

"But?" Tony prompts.  

"But I think those bees, even alien bees, were still living things. They didn't look like they had spectrometers and compatibility matrices.”  

They didn’t; and Tony gets it. In fact, he thinks he knew it all along. “Steve kept saying I smell good.”

He slumps against the wall, and Hill joins him there.  

“This thing between you and Rogers," she says, softly. "I know, we're only seeing the tip of the iceberg and you can rightfully argue that it's none of our business, but it’s working. By all our analyses, team's never been better."

Tony smirks, eyes glued to the ceiling. It's supposed to be sardonic, but there's no denying the warmth he feels. "You're welcome."  

Hill fidgets rather uncharacteristically. "The thing is, there's no telling what will happen if you choose to go through with this. If you react badly—now, or even a year from now--, and it affects the team, it’s no longer just your business.”  

Tony follows the path of tracklights overhead, one glowing bulb at a time. He thinks about how there's a lot of special snowflake stuff that Steve takes in stride. He thinks about how at least his genius, his late nights in the lab, and his publicity stunts _do_ something for the team, whereas his sexuality doesn't. He thinks about how said sexuality is, in fact, hurting the one person Tony should put before himself.  

Tony pictures Steve, all of his formidable strength of body and character being laid to waste by a curable poison, and he thinks: _Sorry, Tony, but Cap's more important than you are_.  

"Yeah," Tony finally agrees. "Fair enough."

 

-

 

Fifteen minutes later, despite Bruce's vehement protests, he’s being hosed down with decontaminants and wrapped in a terry cloth robe. There’s a slickness between his legs from the remnants of lube he’d used to prepare himself for Steve, because who knew if Steve would even understand the concept of a condom in his state? Tony’s not sure it’ll help. He idly wonders whether it’s enough; after all, he doesn’t know what Steve is like in this aspect, how rough he might get—and he stops before panic can settle into his bones like a familiar old song.  

He peeks over a junior agent checking stats on her tablet, and asks in what he hopes is a light hearted tone. “You don’t happen to have Cap's measurements on there, do you?”  

Junior Agent blinks. “Captain Rogers is 6 foot 2,” she recites. “Weighs 250 pounds—"  

“No,” Tony interjects. “I meant a more intimate measurement, really. I’m sure you guys have it."  

This time, Junior Agent considers him carefully. “Captain Rogers is point 4 inches above average length when fully erect, but well within normal by girth,” she says. “We don’t detect any alterations to these measurements by the poison.”

Tony expects her to stop there, after reporting on Captain America’s dick with a straight face, but a flash of sympathy crosses her face. “Usual methods of preparation for penetrative sex should suffice."

Tony exhales through his teeth. “Right, but let’s say it’s been kind of a dry spell,” he gives her a significant look. “A drought of about six years and counting—actually, let’s cut the BS because my boyfriend is dying: I’m asexual. Have been. All my life.”   

Junior frowns at him cryptically, and for a moment, Tony is not sure whether he’s lost her or blown her mind. An explanation of asexuality and his exact flavor of it teeters on the tip of his tongue, but he doesn’t need to bother because it turns out Junior was thinking.   

“I can offer you a muscle relaxant and a mild sedative,” she says, and Tony thanks the multiverse for SHIELD's little troupe of problem solvers.

 

-

 

Within the hour, Tony once again finds himself pushing open the door to Steve’s room. This time, Steve locks on to him almost immediately like he’s been waiting and waiting and can’t wait anymore.

Still, it’s not some kind of wild, Neanderthal rush to mount. In fact, the first thing Steve does is grab Tony by the waist and spin him around. His blue eyes are summer bright when he says, “Hello, beloved.”  

“Hi,” Tony replies breathlessly. The robe slipping  off his shoulders leaves him feeling rather intensely exposed.   

The look in Steve’s eyes is hungry. His cock, already hard and red, grinds up against Tony’s. Tony responds, of course; he’s no stranger to the horizontal tango, but Steve has never felt more wrong. Tony’s gotten used to such presence, such a consideration for his needs over the course of their relationship that this…empty lustfulness makes his heart ache.

Despite the amount of touching involved, sex is largely mental. Tony recognizes Steve’s hot breath trailing over his throat and chest before biting down on his nipple, and he feels numb.  

He drops his head on to Steve’s broad shoulder in an attempt to ground himself. The sedative is making him fly, while the set of hands running along his skin are pulling him apart. Tony focuses on the scent of Steve like it’s home; it tethers him immediately, calms his heart right up until Steve shifts and Tony feels a thick finger circle his entrance.  

The specter of panic rears its head, but it’s elegantly dismissed by the sedative. _We're ok,_ Tony’s brain slurs quietly, _we're ready for this_. For his part, Steve sounds like he’s barely holding himself together, mouthing helplessly at Tony’s throat, tracing the slickness around his hole. It’s only when Tony eyes Steve’s cock, the solid, eager length of it, that he becomes unsettled again. He’s ready, but he’s not prepared to come out of this unscathed.  

_Strategize,_ his brain tells him through the high. And he should. He should find a way to end this quick and clean, because…well, Steve shouldn’t wake up to blood on his hands.  

Yeah, that he should, Tony agrees with himself. But what—should he touch Steve, or make noise? Belateledly, Tony realizes maybe he should have asked for a list of Steve’s kinks. _Oh well._

He settles for initiating a kiss. Steve responds so well; grabs the hair at Tony’s nape as he licks into Tony’s mouth, gentle yet possessive, and perhaps that’s the key.  

“Ok, yeah, that’s good, baby,” Tony starts. The pleased curve to Steve’s lips is encouraging, so he continues. “You like that? Just me and you and, I, um—oh!”  

Steve’s cock slides roughly against his, and Tony gasps. He slips the arm not clutching at Steve’s neck down between them and takes the soldier firmly in hand.   

“Mmh, Steve, you’re…you're perfect,” he babbles, stroking at the length in his hand. "Fuck, look at you—you want me, sweetheart? I’m right here, look—” He jerks his wrist downward; Steve groans, his cock pulses and drips a load of precome—everything short of an actual orgasm.

Behind Tony, Steve’s fingers grow busier, probing at his ass more aggressively until one actually breaches his entrance. Tony shudders. He’s uncomfortable in a visceral way; his body isn’t made for this exercise and his brain doesn’t know how to mitigate what’s happening to him.

Logically, Tony knows he's high; he knows the pinnacle of human perfection is mad with lust for him, that he could bring Steve to his knees and beg for relief if he wanted to, but powerful is the last thing he feels.    

“Come on,” he begs, moving his hand erratically. “Please, Steve, just come.”

 A contented moan answers in return. Steve grows fractionally tighter, but doesn’t relent his efforts on Tony’s ass. Two thick fingers slide into his hole this time, with a third brushing his rim. It borders on painful, but Tony’s got bigger problems to worry about. He can feel Steve push under his thighs for leverage, massive muscles going taut to lift him and pull him home.

This time, a tiny sunspot of panic blooms where the sedative is receding. Tony scrabbles to clutch at Steve’s shoulders, but he can hardly put up a physical resistance to super strength. He mashes his lips to Steve’s instead, presses the tips of their tongues together and squeezes Steve’s cock to distract him. Steve’s certainly distracted, but unfortunately, it doesn’t dampen his enthusiasm—he flexes in rhythm, easily bouncing Tony right on his fingers.

“Fuck,” Tony exhales wetly, lashes spiking when he closes his eyes against the obnoxious slap of their bodies. His arms hang uselessly around Steve this time; he can’t pretend to be into this and stop his tears at once. Here, at this nauseating point with the sedative is on its way out and panic on its way in, Tony doesn’t think he's felt worse in his life.

His Steve would never came on to him like this, not even as a joke. His Steve is good, and kind, and for all that he challenged Tony Stark, he didn’t test a boundary like this. It’s only Tony’s cursed luck that the best thing in his life is compromised by a _bugbite_.

 Rage whirls in him, but it ebbs into anguish before he can even clench his fist. Tony’s eyes blur. He buries his head in Steve’s neck before the he can see, but then Steve kisses his temple, casually, like Tony is still very much his to love and—that’s when Tony loses it. Fresh tears spill over his cheeks and drip into the juncture between Steve’s neck and shoulder.

Perversely enough, he feels safe here. As long as he can lay his head on Steve, Tony can ignore the way his body jars on Steve’s fingers, and how another part of Steve aches to be inside him. He pretends they’re at home again, and the reason he’s straddling Steve is because…it’s Sunday, and they’ve got no plans that require them to be presentable. Tony can almost feel the sunlight streaming into their study; he can picture blue eyes narrowed in concentration, absorbing the contents of a SHIELD dossier while Tony manages to curl his entire adult body on to Steve's lap and catch up on his sleep.

A breathtaking vulnerability limns these memories. Tony doesn’t pay attention to the way his clothes ride up, to his splayed legs, or the things his mouth does to a pen when he’s focused; he doesn’t worry about sending the wrong signals because Steve relentlessly respects the whole asexual thing about him, and god it’s been so long since Tony knew contentment…

Tony gets pulled back into the present by a warm hand on his cock. The ‘I love you’ that drops so easily from his brain to his tongue sticks dryly in his throat, and he’s grateful to his instincts for protecting these words from being scored with trauma. But the more primal surge of love takes more time to fade, like fingerprints long after a touch is gone.  

 When he opens his eyes, Steve nuzzles at him desperately. He’s running even warmer now, feels feverish against Tony’s skin, and it’s only thanks to the short little spasms along his neck  and forehead that Tony even remembers he’s hurting. He wishes he were surprised, but he knows how Steve swallows his pain. In spite of himself, Tony bends Steve’s forehead to his own chest and buries his face in the blond crown.

“I’ve got you,” he tells Steve, carding his fingers through the short hairs at the back of his head. “Do you understand? Because you’re mine. Sorry, but them’s the rules—you really should have read up before taking up with me, ‘cause it goes both ways, y’know?"

“Tony,” Steve murmurs and drags him close by his thighs.

Tony doesn’t resist. “I…I can’t stand for anyone else to have you but me. Because that would kill me,” he gasps when he feels the pressure of Steve’s dick at his ass. He strokes the high point of Steve’s cheekbones and smirks weakly. “You know how it is.”

Steve kisses him as he slides in. Tony swallows his breathless, relieved groan.

“I know,” says Steve, gripping him tight. “I’m yours; you know that.”

Something surges in Tony then, sharp and potent and _too much_ —these feelings crashing around him like waves, while Steve’s singleminded thrusts spread him wide. Every breath he takes seems to gather more of the ache behind his ribs, until one comes back out as a sob. Tony can’t stop his grief or his trembling hands, but if there’s comfort, it’s in Steve’s expression of relief.

Tony stares blindly as Steve’s formerly pinched features smooth out and transform into bliss. “That’s it, babe,” he rasps heavily. “That’s it..."

 

-

 

Realistically, Steve can’t have lasted for very long, but it seems like a long time before it finally ends. Tony doesn’t notice when Steve comes more than he jerks up at the note of sobriety in Steve's voice when he calls Tony’s name. He quickly braces himself and withdraws just as the beginnings of a frown make lines on Steve’s brow.

By the time Tony slips off of his lap and steps back on wobbly legs, Steve’s expression makes the leap from confusion to abject horror.

“Oh my god,” Steve stands and looks down at his naked body with unnecessary devastation. “Tony, did I…?"

Tony hates the shame in his voice, hates to have been the one who brought Captain America so low. Y _ou weren’t you,_ he tries to say, but the battle for his voice with grievous exhaustion takes a second too long, and Steve pins the guilt on to himself.

“Jesus, Tony, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t,” Tony shakes his head. He picks up the discarded robe and uses a corner of it to dry his face before looking back up at Steve. “You  were going to die, and I said yes. And I’d do it again.” he quickly adds before Steve can protest. “So, this is not your fault.”

Steve doesn’t look convinced, but casts his eyes over the marks on Tony. “Did I hurt you?” he asks.

“Of course not,” Tony replies, shrugging into the robe. “Even while running an epic fever, you’re very polite…”

He pauses halfway through tying the sash when Steve’s brow twitches. A flash of distress crosses Steve’s usual inclination to remain stoic, and by now, Tony knows him well enough to recognize the signs of self-flagellation. Despite his best efforts, Steve had woken up to proverbial blood on his hands 

Tony walks over to cup Steve’s cheek in his palm, pushes until their eyes meet. “Come on, you know I’m not sex-repulsed. And it’s you— there’s nothing I wouldn’t have done so you could live, so don’t tear yourself up. 

“Do you really expect me to ignore that you paid a price to save me?” Steve asks, like he’s trying to be captainly, but everything about him is brittle when he insists, “You _did_ , and if it was just about taking a beating from some throwaway henchman, I could at least say I know how it feels. But I don’t know this. I don’t know what this is like for you.”

Steve takes a shuddering breath, and Tony thinks better to than to talk during the painful pause. "I can’t be there for you like I want to, but Tony, I swear, I never…” Steve’s voice breaks at that moment and he presses their foreheads together, his eyes pinched shut. “I never thought you weren’t enough.”

“Oh, I know,” Tony breathes, suddenly feeling high again in a way that has nothing to do with any meds. “Trust me, babe, I know. Don’t you think it hits me a hundred times a day, how the hell I lucked into someone like you? Someone who puts up with my shit and still—“

Steve makes a soft, disagreeing noise. “I don’t _put up_ with you, Tony.”

“ _Cap, I don’t know how else to say it!_ ” Tony pushes their proximity one step further and throws himself into the embrace, tightens his arms despite Steve’s confused reticence. “You’re so good! You’re so good to me every day that this barely even registers. I’m not trying to rationalize, ok? I just really fucking love you. I wanna keep you around.”

Steve hugs back this time. Tony can feel the weight of his head resting on his shoulder, and presses in closer because there’s something wonderful about the way Steve goes to fold his gigantic self in to an offer of comfort.  “I love you, too,” Steve murmurs. “Thank you. I don’t like that today happened, but I won’t pretend I don’t like that I’m still here with you."

Tony closes his eyes. “So, you’re ready to come home?”

Steve makes a strange sound that might have been a laugh. “Home? You still want to go home with me?”

Tony lifts a little on his toes to kiss away the lines of distress. “Yeah, and I want us to make dinner. Then, I want to work while you draw in your diary and give me shit about the state of my workshop. Then, maybe you can convince me to come to our bed and sleep, while you hypocritically stay up reading _Life of Pi_ with your night vision.”

“Just be normal,” Tony leans his head against Steve’s when he hears a soft, relieved laugh. “I just need us to feel normal again. Can we do that?”

“Of course,” Steve agrees. “Let’s go home."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
